


"I Got You,"

by LudicrousFanfic (LudicrousAuthor)



Series: The Umbrella Academy ---> My Verse [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Bro hug, Brotherhood, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Diego Is Klaus's Safe Place, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Security, Explicit Language, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Ghosts, Hugs, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves and The Mausoleum, M/M, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Self-Esteem Issues, bad language, hugging it out, inferior complex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 19:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17924927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LudicrousAuthor/pseuds/LudicrousFanfic
Summary: Everyone else had been learning, gaining more control, even learning new things and he… hadn’t gotten any progress since he was a kid. Roaming the halls did nothing, he gained nothing from it apart from sole sores and aching legs. That wasn't progress...“Fuuuuuuck my life,” Klaus groaned to himself.----------Klaus feels like he's lacking because everyone else is learning and progressing with their abilities and he isn't. He decides to do something he's been afraid to do since he was a kid and it goes wrong.





	"I Got You,"

**Author's Note:**

> \- I haven't actually read the comics, I plan to, though.  
> \- I based this from the Netflix/Show version of TUA.  
> \- AU where the Apocalypse was avoided, Pogo didn't die, and they didn't need to time travel back. All is good.  
> \- Also, an AU where Ben actually does have a boyfriend but that's a later short-project that involves one of my male oc's. It's nothing special, but it's definitely amusing.

Having no clue as to why he decided to stay there, Klaus roamed the halls and rooms, trying to find an answer to his decision. A decision he thought he would entirely regret and would send him into a flurry of drug-induced hazes, mixed memories of the time during his drugged blackouts, and the pure bliss gradually turning into a painfully empty feeling until the next time, and the next time, and the next time and the time after that, and after that.

A vicious but welcoming circle that Klaus refused to break from until recently, much like his repeated self-inflicted choices. The drugs, the alcohol, the thievery and self-abuse, and… his decision to stay _home_ while the others disappeared, having left the house one by one without a second thought or second glance his way. To where he had been moping on the couch after finally finding sobriety again. Off and on, off and on, back and forth from hazed to clear-minded, from drug-filled to sober. Like his circle, he couldn’t break it. Even Ben saw it, had for a while and tried his best to help him, to convince and talk him out of it, and for the most part, he could, but Klaus, he was too weak minded to leave alone what made him numb to life, to disappointment, to his nightmare of living and nightmares in general.

For the time being, Klaus pushed against his fears and nightmares, seeking them out in his rarely sober state, eyes casting across walls and down halls, searching for… _something_ that could help him besides the drugs. A sliver of remembrance pointed him towards wanting to actually _learn_ how to use what he was given. He walked and walked, the house seeming entirely as empty as he knew it had been since everyone left. Just him, mother, Pogo and the dust bunnies that grew over the years.

He avoided the Catacombs, the Mausoleum of disembodied voices and screams of the dead that haunted him from the start to his current years. His fears and nightmares were nothing compared to what he saw and felt as a child in those cold, dark, death-filled tombs. He avoided them because of the dead and yet, he searched the hall for just that, the dead, or that was his initial thought as to why he wandered the halls.

Klaus did actually _try_ to use his powers after Ben hit him that first time, and the times after that, Ben saving Diego and then that big burst of blue power where he harnessed Ben, his 6th brother saving _all of them_ with his inner monster and helping to avoid the Apocalypse altogether.

“C’mooooooon,” Klaus groaned, posture slouching after his failed attempts at simply wandering and coming upon a random dead person. “Does Dad have like… a Ward to keep the dead out of his house or something,” he called out rhetorically, a heavy, obnoxious sigh being huffed out. Why he even bothered was a wonder in itself after all of this time.

He ran a slender hand over his face and through his hair, the jet black feathers on the hem of his sleeves brushing his cheek along with the feather on the collar of said jacket fluttering across his neck with his movements. With another sigh, Klaus turned around, spinning on his heel and striding back the way he came, not unsure of what he could do to really move things along, but highly reluctant to do it.

He swore off trying the Mausoleum from too many past experiences that he knew caused his most terrible day and nightmares that led to his downhill life of self-destructive decisions and self-harming choices. _Why on earth would he think it was even an option after what could be considered abuse by their father. Locking him in there to_ **_help_ ** _him, to_ **_train_ ** _him and_ **_test_ ** _him. All it did was backfire and now look at him._

“Great job, _Dad,”_ Klaus sarcastically smiled as he walked his way towards the kitchen in hopes of eating himself out of his thoughts. All this loneliness, stuck in the house without his siblings gave him too much silence and too much silence made it easy to get lost in his own thoughts, which wasn't the best thing when you had a mind like his. Even Ben disappeared for a time. He must have had a just as dead boyfriend, maybe. A sweet thought, that he found love in the afterlife.

“Toastie~,” he sang completely out of tune as he descended the stairs that led to the kitchen in the basement. “Toastie~,” he skipped into the room, twirling around the corner of the table, reaching out for the fridge to grab what was needed. “Burnt bread~, cheese~, beans~ aaaaaaand…” his face grew just slightly disappointed. “No ham slices, great. You know, fridge, it’s not a real Toastie without Ham slices. Why don’t you have ham slices? Did Luther steal from you again?” he babbled his questions, a hum being drawn out after his sentences.

“Ham Sliceless Toasties,” he grimaced with mild disappointed as he dropped everything, minus the ham slices, on the table in a pile, reaching out for the sticky-notes beside the cooker. He wrote a simple, rough fonted comment about Luther going grocery shopping for his dastardly deed and proceeded to stick it to the fridge before turning back to his food.

Klaus stared at the unprepared ingredients, his teeth beginning to gnaw on the inside of his lip the more distant his mind began to feel, his thoughts taking over again. He didn't like the thought or the feeling of disappointment. _Not disappointment from others, though he would be ten times happier if they were actually impressed by him for once. He had felt their disappointment for years and couldn’t give two shits anymore,_ but when it was from himself… He rarely felt self-disappointment, he’d never cared for himself enough, why else would he fill his body with drugs, booze and whatever else he can get his hands on?

But this, this felt exasperating, his self-disappointment towards the lack of progress, the setback and the fact that he wasn't willing to go the set further and simply stand in the Mausoleum entrance with the door wide open. He _knew_ he could do that. Actually standing _inside_ was another story. So why didn't he? Why couldn’t he? He knew he could do it, but he refused to.

Everyone else had been learning, gaining more control, even learning new things and he… hadn’t gotten any progress since he was a kid. Roaming the halls did nothing, he gained nothing from it apart from sole sores and aching legs. That wasn't progress...

“Fuuuuuuck my life,” Klaus groaned to himself, hands pressing against the table edge with his head dropping forward, scoffs leaving his lips with soft curses. He had to do something, had to at least be able to tell his siblings that he learned _something_ or even _tried_ something during their little Progress Meeting and if he… _tried_ the Mausoleum, that could easily be seen as an intense step up considering that they knew what that place did to him years ago, what lasting trauma it gave him.

“Stop talking yourself into it,” he growled softly, his fingers digging into the table for a long, lingering few moments and beginning to hate himself more the longer he thought on it and considered it. “Baaaad idea. Worst idea,” this _wasn't_ something simple for him, never had been, never will be! “Fuck you, Dad,”

Klaus lifted his head, eyes staring ahead at nothing. He pursed his lips and huffed softly, his expression turning resigned and maybe just slightly scared. Swallowing thickly, he left the table, leaving the food where he put them and made his way out of the kitchen, striding up the stairs towards the first floor and then towards the courtyard.

Shoving the doors open, Klaus’ eyes landed on the cause of his worst nightmares, drizzle immediately dotting his face and clothes once he stepped outside, never stopping in his long, somewhat determined speedwalk.

The closer he got, the more his nerves made themselves known, his mind sparking regret and reasons why he shouldn't do this, but they never outweighed his delusional need to feel included in the progress his siblings had in such a short time. Why he felt like he needed or wanted to be included, he would never understand. He’d never wanted to before this.

Upon reaching the Mausoleum in the corner of the yard, he stopped short, his body suddenly stiffening and solidifying, barely blinking and breathing while he stared at the too familiar gate and door, no lock in sight. He swallowed, fear lacing his spin, slithering through the joints and rising towards the back of his neck like a cold, wet snake hell-bent on keeping him scared, alone and lost in his fear and nightmares, like the Dead that only left him alone when he was high and drunk.

“C’mon, Klaus,” he whispered to himself, forcing a limb to move so that he could slap his own face once, and then twice and then thrice. “You can do this,” he encouraged, slapping his face again and again until he seemed to bounce on the balls of his shoes with building energy.

With a swift movement, he snapped his hand out and grabbed the gate, dragging it open and doing the same with the heavy door, _immediately_ regretting every decision leading up to this as the darkness stared at him, even darker and more terrifying than he remembered, all of it hitting him like a heavy gust of petrifying, paralyzing fear.

His breath caught in his chest, nerves shaking him. Klaus heard them. As soon as the door had been open and he focused inside without prompting it, the screams, calling and yelling, moaning and groaning, shrieking in ghostly, echoed pitches and shook his bones and mind worse than he remembered.

Klaus let his breath out in a whimper, hands shaking and eyes staring into darkness, faces appearing and disappearing, fading only to let more faces appear, all looking to him, calling to him, screaming and crying for him to help, crowding him, floating in his space and getting into his head, short sparks of their memories and his own from his years as a child.

Fear raced through him, his pulse growing loud in his head and his voice joining the cries and screams, his hands reaching to his eyes, covering his face just as his legs gave out, knees slamming against the stone rounding the large tomb. Hunching over, he screamed, already sounding raw as though he had been using his voice for a while, cracking and whimpering, husky with growing tears and immense fear.

He shook violently, everything around him gone and leaving pure blackness and floating voices from all angles, joined by his pulsating tremors and screams, water wetting his cheeks and heart beating his ribs fast and hard, his breathing lost in his cries.

It felt like they were grabbing at him, trying to get his attention and it only made the screams louder, harder, voice leaving him at times during short moments as they repeatedly turned to terrified sobbing. He tried curling in on himself, trying to get into a fetal position, but the hands refused his attempts, forcing him into a different potion and he tried so hard to fight them, eyes screwed shut and covered by his hands. Klaus couldn’t. He was too scared, traumatized, the voice yelling to him-. _“Klaus!”_ Voice.

He sobbed hard, still refusing to look, but the voice- it sounded off, different.

 _“Klaus!”_ he still sobbed, heart racing, voice broken and mind lost in the dark. The faces were still there, rounding him in his state. With a rough movement though, not by him, they were drawn away, the black still crowding his mind, but they were leaving-.

 _“Klaus! Come back!”_ again, the voice. He shook, his own voice lost to the overuse this put him through, the screams and cries, his cheeks still being drenched. _“C’mon! Come back to me, you idiot!”_ it sounded clearer, more so with the voices now faint and away from him. He knew it, it was familiar, but he still sobbed.

Suddenly, everything became muffled, his ears thick with something, he couldn’t hear. It took him too long to realize that they were being covered, and logic told him that it wasn't ghosts, not the dead. The thought started drawing him back, mind easing out of his darkest state and away from his blinding defences.

“C’mon, Klaus,” he knew the voice all to well even while it sounded muffled and it was such an immense comfort that he couldn’t help but let himself go limp from the safety that washed over him, his mind picking up on the arms that moved from his ears to around him and they only tightened around his shoulder and upper waist.

“Diego,” he shook, voice barely audible through his scream warn voicebox. Klaus felt the arms draw him close, his head dropping against his brother's chest and feeling the immediate security that the other always provided when it came to him.

“It’s okay. I got you,” Diego spoke softly, the words puffing against his hair, warm and welcoming. “I got you,” the confidence in his voice warmed him, made him believe it without hesitation and it was a highly appreciated feeling after what just happened. He regretted it. All of it… _most_ of it. He didn't regret letting his brother see him like this. The man was an anchor that he greedily clung to like rocks on the seabed.

“Diego,” he wheezed, voice croaking from use. The hands around him brushed over his shoulder and side, easing him back through comfort that had been so completely welcomed. He craved it, he wanted-, no, _needed,_ some form of it. He needed help, a soft voice, someone that cared and could help him.

“C’mon, Klaus,” the movements were slow, so slow. Or they were average speed and he felt lagged. Either way, Klaus could feel an arm move, lacing under his legs and securing his shoulders and he was being lifted bridal-style, one of his own arms sluggishly draping over his brothers’ broad shoulders, letting it all happen without any of his stupid and or sarcastic comments. He couldn’t bring himself to. He felt like a paralyzed withdrawal victim, still panting in a sweat, heart racing, mind dead and numb and yet wired and scared.

The cold drizzle became warmth on his skin, the heat from inside the building and Diego’s body already reaching him and he gripped the back of the mans’ shirt, refusing to let go.

“Did he get high again?” he heard the exasperated, resigned tone, a voice belonging to none other than Luther, duh. Of course, he would think that.

“No. He’s not high,” Diego instantly retorted without slowing down, his tone sharp-edged, firm, serious and defensive in Klaus’ sted. It warmed him internally, his arm securing tighter around the mans’ shoulder.

“Then what happened?” Allison, she was there too. Go figure that everyone would reappear _after_ Klaus did something stupid and assume he did it without thinking of the repercussions… _which happened to be exactly how it looked. He did something stupid without thinking it through._

“I have an idea, but I wanna hear it from him,” his brother replied, his tone just slightly softer than a moment ago. “Drop it ‘til then,” relief eased his nerves a little, knowing that he negated and would continue to negate until later. He didn't want the others to know just yet, even if that meant that they thought he took drugs again.

“Diego-,” Luther spoke up, clearly wanting to know what happened or at least what Diego thought.

“Drop it,” and was immediately cut off by the man, being given no room for arguments. They all knew when to stop when it came to the man carrying him. His tone, an expression or a certain posture. Silence would take over and no one would protest or argue with him unless Diego was in the wrong.

And as he had thought it, silence followed them into whatever room they entered, Klaus feeling the warmth and hearing sliding doors slide closed, Diego having stopped to… what, draw the doors together by his boot? He assumed so, considering he started walking as soon as the sound of the doors closing stopped.

“Thank you,” he croaked out, his voice still barely audible in his limp position. They walked a few more paces before Diego lowered him slightly without letting go and the man sat, Klaus sitting on his thighs sidelong, his head still against his shoulder and the arm of the seat against his back.

“Shut up and just breathe C'mon,” he felt a hand against his chest and an arm still around his back, slack, but still there.

He obeyed, for the most part, trying to relax and breathe, forcing his pulse to ease and regulate while the lingering memory of the happenings were pushed back and out, Klaus trying to shrug them off like he usually shrugged off the dead when he had his sobriety. _God, he wished he were high._

As stupid as the idea had been, at least he knew he had the courage to do what he did, no matter the outcome. That would be progress and maybe it being mentioned to the group wasn't a bad thing. It could be something that the others would see as progress, even if it ended as bad as it did. They couldn’t say that it _wasn't_ a good step when over the years, he refused to even stand in the courtyard.

Klaus gradually blinked his eyes open, finally able to see without focusing on dead faces, though they were _just barely_ open, narrow slits that didn't seem open at all thanks to his dark eyes and just as dark guyliner. They were in the living room, a content lounge that Diego frequented with a bar on one side of the room, a fireplace on the other.

He focused on the warmth, the hand on his chest and he reached his own shaken palm to Diego’s brushing his fingers over the rough skin against his core, his way of conveying his regained composure.

“Why’d you do that,” Klaus blinked, mind returning to the moment he had been standing there, the door and gate to the crypt closed, _before_ he stupidly opened it.

“Because I’m an idiot,” he supplied, his voice slowly returning but still cracking and husky, sounding as though he screamed his voicebox out at one helluva concert. He flicked his gaze up after feeling some movement, noting Diego’s _no bullshit_ stare, which caused him to huff softly. “These Progress Meetings. All of you were making progress,” he grumbled quietly, resignment heavy in his weak voice.

“So you thought going to the _Mausoleum_ was a good idea?” Diego countered rhetorically, his tone both incredulous and concerned, a mix that only this brother would ever have for Klaus. But even then, Diego had to know how bad it felt to make next to nothing towards a goal or achievement. The man was built on reaching goals.

“I’m not making any progress, Diego. I needed _something_ to show you guys,” Klaus protested weakly, his voice and body having no fight that could level with the other man. Looking up with distant eyes, he could see the consideration, the thought heavy behind his dark, sharp gaze.

“Not at the cost of your sanity, you idiot,” Diego replied deeply, his words soft and calm. “That scared me-, _you_ scared me back there,” he added, expression turning serious and Klaus had no idea how bad his reaction to the contents of the Mausoleum must have been, though, from his brothers’ actions, it had to be worse than any other reaction he had.

“D’you remember what Dad did to you? How you acted and how you looked and felt after you were let outta there? Bec-cause _I_ do,” Klaus watched the other man, swallowing softly and catching the tells he gave off unbeknown to himself, the tight, clenched jaw, the stutter at the end of that sentence that he failed to hide this one time.

Though, he was right. Klaus remembered, how could he forget. He tried through drug-induced hazes, but they were still there, memories haunting him like those nightmares.

“Everyone _but_ you sees a drug addict that doesn’t care about anything ‘cept himself and his next fix,” he breathed out, eyes still fixed on his brother who only watched him in return, intently focused. “I _do_ care about more than just me and I’ve been trying to better myself. Ben’s been helping me, but, surprisingly enough, he’s not here a hundred percent of the time, so I have to find other means,”

“But the Mausoleum-,” Diego started to protest, sounding far more like a really big brother than anyone he had ever met.

“-Is the only closest place with dead people that don’t sell drugs along the way from my room to the courtyard,” he countered simply, his tone never changing but his voice slowly came back, fewer cracks and croaks than before. It still sounded harsh though, throat raw from what happened. He’d be drinking a lot of water for the next few hours.

“Let me help you,” Diego offered genuinely, their eyes so focused and locked, his strong and sharp with Klaus’ weak and sluggish. He swallowed softly, a tired, small smile drawing at one corner of his lips.

“I didn't actually think about how easy it would be to just leave and pick up drugs on the way because I was more focused on impressing all of you,” making the others see him, like _really see_ him had been far more prominent in his mind than drugs or alcohol. Not that he would go as far as to say that he was one hundred percent over his fixes, but it felt like a step in the right direction, though that hadn’t been a good direction either, fucking crypt.

“Seriously?” a smile grew across the other man's mouth, Klaus only nodding and it broadened, a really grin drawing at his features. “Congrats. Let’s keep it that way, yeah?” Diego scoffed slightly, the dead-talker chuckling softly.

“I’m planning to try and would appreciate that help you offered,” he grinned tiredly, relaxing heavily against the man, getting much more comfortable and even cuddling up, legs being drawn closer with his converse pressing against the seat cushion beside them.

“I’m all yours,” Diego really didn't understand just how much those words meant to him, the feeling that came with it being ten times stronger than what it meant to hear them. His heart swelled with heat, his chest warming and easing him far faster than Klaus’ own slow attempt.

“Diego, you’re my brother. That’s just weird,” he smiled coyly, his sarcastic and drily witty self having returned, though his joke didn't sound at all like it usually would. It was said softly and his expression had been just as so.

“Says you,” Diego stared, a bemused scoff leaving him with his eyebrows quirking expectantly and rhetorically.

“Touche,” the feeling behind Klaus’ smile grew more genuine, a moment passing by with them only staring at each other. “Thank you, Diego,” he reached up, arms lacing the bigger mans’ shoulders and neck, holding tight to him.

“It’s what brothers do,” Diego replied while returning the meaningful gesture, his arms rounding Klaus and keeping him close, giving no sign of letting go any time soon. He closed his eyes, simply enjoying so much of his brother, as much as he could get before they would inevitably be interrupted.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first of my Umbrella Academy fanfiction. I had fun writing it and I'm more than sure that there'll be more pretty soon since this is all I can really think about.
> 
> \- My Tumblr, [Click Here](https://tyjax-eeowen.tumblr.com/)  
> \- My Wattpad, [Click Here](https://www.wattpad.com/user/EllisEOwen)  
> \- My DeviantArt, [Click Here](https://www.deviantart.com/eeowen)
> 
> Also, if you saw any mistakes, feel free to point them out.  
> \- Repeating the sentence in the comment would be a great help. I'll know where to find it if you do that.


End file.
